


Rubenesque

by Lurlur



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 12 days of blasphemy, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Body Image, Body Worship, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley cries during sex, Crowley has negative body image, Explicit Sexual Content, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prompt Fill, Self-Esteem Issues, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21894007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are getting down to it at last.Crowley thinks that Aziraphale is the most perfect being to ever walk the earth.In contrast, he thinks that he's a barely held together collection of matchsticks.Now including AMAZING art bySpicy Carrot
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 86
Kudos: 617
Collections: 12 Days of Blasphemy, Ineffable First Times, Top Aziraphale Recs





	Rubenesque

**Author's Note:**

  * For [D20Owlbear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/gifts), [argentconflagration](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argentconflagration/gifts).



Watching Aziraphale enjoy food is an indulgence that Crowley has been allowing himself since before humanity had properly developed the language to describe it. It’s the uninhibited bliss on his face with each mouthful, the way his tongue chases stray crumbs that cling to his lip, the little moans and gasps of pleasure that send shocks down Crowley’s spine; he never wants to miss a second of it.

Aziraphale is making those little noises now, his eyes closed in bliss so Crowley can stare without feeling awkward about it. The setting is decidedly unexpected, though. This isn’t some  _ darling _ little bistro that they simply  _ must _ try; this is Crowley’s living room. What he’s finding even more difficult to accept is that Aziraphale is giving his good food performance with Crowley’s cock in his mouth. Quite frankly, it’s making Crowley’s brain spit out error codes.

The little moans are sending vibrations through him in a way that feels too good to be true. Crowley’s hands are clenched into fists at his sides, digging into the leather of his sofa. He’s too afraid to move, to touch Aziraphale, or make a noise in case he breaks this impossible spell. Aziraphale’s tongue strokes against the head of Crowley’s erection, gathering up the first drops of pre-come like crumbs of a particularly delicious chocolate cake.

“You can touch me, it’s OK.” Aziraphale looks up from between Crowley’s thighs and smiles.

Barely two minutes into this and Crowley is already messing it up, of course he is. He returns the smile but it’s too tight and too forced to fool Aziraphale.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale sits back on his heels.

“Nothing’s wrong, angel.” Crowley lies.

Aziraphale clearly doesn’t buy it for a second. His hands are on Crowley’s thighs, stroking up and down in a soothing motion. Crowley wishes he could wind time back and just avoid this moment completely.

“If you don’t like this, we don’t have to continue. I won’t mind.”

And he means it. Aziraphale would happily tuck Crowley’s cock back into his jeans and climb back onto the sofa for a cuddle and never mention it again. With a dramatic sigh, Crowley flops his head backwards over the back of the sofa.

“It’s not that. Trust me, I like this a lot!” Crowley tells the ceiling.

“So why don’t you tell me what it  _ is _ , then?” Aziraphale’s hands are still petting Crowley’s skinny thighs.

Crowley steels himself, trying to remember that it’s only Aziraphale and Aziraphale would never judge him for being honest about his fears. He stays staring at the ceiling all the same.

“I’m going to mess this up somehow. I’m already doing it now just by worrying about it.”

“Oh, my dear, you aren’t at all.” Aziraphale climbs into Crowley’s lap, carefully avoiding his erection. “We have to be able to talk openly about these things.”

Crowley groans and forces himself to look at Aziraphale who is just beaming love and affection at him. It’s overwhelming.

“I hate it when you’re right, you know.”

Aziraphale preens and looks pleased with himself, it’s so adorably annoying that Crowley has to kiss the look right off his face. When they part Aziraphale’s eyes are bright and his cheeks flushed, Crowley decides that he much prefers this look on him.

“You aren’t getting out of this conversation that easily,” Aziraphale teases him, softening his chiding with a kiss to Crowley’s temple, “what makes you say that you’re going to mess this up?”

Crowley runs the various disaster scenarios he’s catalogued through his mind. As much as he hates to admit it, there’s really only one recurring theme that continually plagues him. He huffs and briefly considers just running away from the whole thing and living as a snake in Australia for a few centuries.

“I ruin things a lot, I overthink and I worry and I’m going to do that here. I’m already trying to think five steps ahead so you don’t have to see me naked.”

“Do you not want me to see you naked, Crowley?” Aziraphale’s brow creases into a frown, Crowley wants to kiss it away despite knowing that this conversation won’t be put off forever.

“Uh, it’s- it’s not that, exactly.”

Aziraphale seems to know that Crowley is about to hide behind his hands because he takes hold of them both, rubbing Crowley’s knuckles with his thumbs.

“Can you explain it to me?”

Crowley looks into Aziraphale’s eyes, pleading with him to understand without needing Crowley to say it all out loud. Aziraphale just keeps looking concerned. Crowley bites the inside of his cheek, swallows his anxiety, and spills his guts.

“I don’t want  _ you _ to have to see what I look like naked. I’m pretty used to it, although I don’t care much for it. If you see me you might change your mind about all this.” Crowley vaguely indicates the pair of them.

“You think that I will dislike your physical body so much that I won’t love you any more?” Aziraphale is incredulous.

Crowley scoffs at that, a little half-hearted laugh to lighten the mood. He pulls his hands away from Aziraphale’s grasp so he can gesticulate loosely.

“I know you’ll still  _ love _ me, angel. I think you won’t want to, you know, fuck me.” Crowley is bright red from the tops of his ears down to his collarbones, he can feel the heat of it like he’s a boiling lobster.

The admission is mortifying, exposing, vulnerable, and Crowley can’t take it back now. He’s itching to get away from the look that Aziraphale is giving him, the heat coming off his body must drive Aziraphale away sooner rather than later.

“You’re beautiful, Crowley. I’ve always thought so.” Aziraphale purrs and presses kisses to Crowley’s burning cheeks, his throat, his lips.

Crowley fights the urge to bat him away, to brush off the softness that he doesn’t deserve. Instead, he holds Aziraphale’s hips, digging his fingers into the meat of him, just for something to do with his hands.

“You see beauty in everything, angel, you’re supposed to. You spent hundreds of years inspiring artists and sculptors with your perfect body. I’ve been stuck with this corporation, all angles and bones and sharp edges.” He buries his face in Aziraphale’s chest, unwilling to feel anything other than the softness of Aziraphale’s shirt.

Soft hands come to rest in Crowley’s hair, petting him in a way that makes it incredibly difficult to stay so tightly wound up. He freezes, letting Aziraphale run his fingers around the nape of his neck and tries not to make a series of desperately needy sounds.

“Your corporation is desperately sexy.” And that word sounds alien in Aziraphale’s voice, the low husky tone makes him sound like an imposter even as it sends thrills straight through Crowley’s cock. “I’ve wanted to get my hands on you for so long.”

That has to be a lie. Crowley makes a sad little moan into the fabric of Aziraphale’s shirt and clutches at him tighter. He’s ruining it, just not in the way he expected and he’s ruining it quicker than he’d thought possible.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice is firmer now, almost a demand for attention. “Crowley, look at me.”

With desperate reluctance, Crowley drags his head away from Aziraphale’s chest and meets his gaze. His teeth clench so hard that they might shatter. Aziraphale’s hands move to cradle Crowley’s face, cupping his jaw. The tension makes Aziraphale frown, concern creasing his perfect forehead.

“Crowley, we don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to. You know that, don’t you? If you are doing any of this because you just want to make me happy then I’ll be very cross.”

Crowley huffs a laugh and rolls his hips up into Aziraphale, drawing attention to the straining erection that has been bravely ignoring the emotional weight of the current exchange. Aziraphale tuts.

“Darling, an erection is not an indication of consent or enthusiasm.”

It’s impossible to argue with that, Crowley knows the truth of it and so he has to use words, awkward, unwieldy, imprecise words.

“I told you I’d fuck this up.” He says, miserably. “Aziraphale, I want this. I want you. So fucking much. S’just, you know, nerves. You’re a fucking Rubens masterpiece and I’m a background matchstick figure in a Lowry. I just wanted you to know, to be able to back out if you want to.”

The look that Aziraphale gives him is so mournful that Crowley can’t look at it, he has to look away from it before he combusts.

“I like Lowry,” he says simply, reaching for Crowley’s chin.

He guides them back into a kiss, quieting Crowley’s racing thoughts with his lips and tongue. Crowley groans into it, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s waist to keep him close. The trainwreck is narrowly averted and Crowley can breathe again as this newly familiar feeling of Aziraphale’s kiss soothes him.

“We need a change of scenery,” Aziraphale murmurs.

Before Crowley can respond, the air is knocked out of his chest by an angelic miracle and the mattress that is suddenly against his back. Aziraphale is still astride his lap, his hands on Crowley’s chest pushing him into the bed.

“I love you, Crowley, I adore you and I want to show you how much that extends to your physical form.”

It’s easier for Crowley to hide behind his hands now, to bring up something of a barrier between his vulnerable, emotional face and the strength of Aziraphale’s love.

“If this gets to be too much for you, if you want to stop for any reason, just tell me and everything will stop. I need you to tell me that you understand and that you want to continue before anything else happens. Can you do that?” Aziraphale is so earnest that Crowley can feel it in his own chest.

He nods behind his hands and, when Aziraphale doesn’t move, he finds his voice.

“I understand. Please, Aziraphale, I want this so much. Don’t let me mess it up,” Crowley pleads through his palms.

“Darling, you couldn’t even if you tried,” Aziraphale says with saccharine sweetness. “I’m going to undress now, you just stay there.”

This proves to be the most effective method for getting Crowley to move his hands as he doesn’t want to miss a second of Aziraphale’s slow removal of his many layers. He props himself up on his elbows as Aziraphale slides back and off the bed.

The precision and care that goes into this almost ritualistic act of undressing, someone help him, it  _ does _ things to Crowley. He watches methodical fingers unbutton the worn waistcoat, sees the flex of shoulders as it is shrugged off, envies the loving way it is smoothed and folded before being set aside. The way that Aziraphale loosens and removes his bow tie, casually and not looking at Crowley, it’s so much more intimate than a striptease could ever be. Crowley is seeing Aziraphale, relaxed and vulnerable, and he doesn’t want to miss a second of it. The bow tie joins the waistcoat, followed by the blue shirt with delicate mother of pearl buttons. Aziraphale doesn’t fumble with his cufflinks and that flash of casual competence is far more arousing than Crowley would have expected.

There’s an undershirt, because of course there is, and then Aziraphale’s soft torso is bare. His hands are already working on the buckle of his belt and Crowley is gripped with a sudden need to slow down.

“Stop, wait,” he sits up and moves to the edge of the bed.

Aziraphale looks up, dropping his hands and moving closer to Crowley in one smooth motion.

“What’s the matter, love?”

He’s so naturally unselfconscious, not appearing to care about his state of undress or making any move to cover himself; Crowley wishes he could feel that way.

“You’re so beautiful, I just want to see you for a moment. Let me get used to this?” Crowley asks, hating how needy he sounds.

Aziraphale smiles and reaches for Crowley’s hands, putting them on his waist.

“You can touch me. I’m not off-limits,” Aziraphale encourages Crowley’s hands to roam about his exposed skin.

Crowley leans forward, burying his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and running his hands up Aziraphale’s back, marvelling in the roundness and gentle curves.

“You should be. You should be behind a velvet rope, being sketched by artists and school children.”

“You flatterer,” Aziraphale moves back enough to make Crowley look up and delivers his thanks with a kiss. “Are you all right? Do you want to stop completely or did you just need a moment?”

“I’m OK. I don’t want to stop.”

Apparently content with this answer, Aziraphale steps back and unbuckles his belt. Crowley’s mouth goes dry as he pushes the thick tweed down to his feet, catching his socks on the way. Aziraphale is standing in Crowley’s bedroom, wearing only his underwear, and Crowley isn’t dreaming. His flagging cock begins to rally once more, neglected and still exposed.

At another time, in another situation, Crowley might have made some comment about the white cotton boxer shorts that Aziraphale is wearing, but right now he’s too keen to be allowed at what’s underneath to think about in which century he’d last seen this style.

Aziraphale folds his trousers and adds them to the neat pile of clothing that he’s built. Crowley watches, waiting for any sign of reluctance or doubt to show on Aziraphale’s face. He looks serene as he slides his fingertips under the waistband of his underwear and pushes them to the floor, stepping free.

Finally, he looks at Crowley, smiling. In his chest, Crowley’s heart is pounding against his ribs. This heavenly creature, perfection made physical, dreams made flesh, he is looking at Crowley with something like reverence. It’s too much to bear, too intense; Crowley looks away with his cheeks burning.

“Could you lie back in the middle of the bed, please?” Aziraphale asks gently.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Do you need me to, you know, get undressed?” Crowley shuffles back somewhat awkwardly as his jeans bunch around his hips.

“That’s perfect, dearest. And no, I want to unwrap you myself.”

Crowley watches Aziraphale climb onto the bed and kneel by his feet.

“I love every inch of you, Crowley. I hope that I’ll be able to convince you of that fact,” Aziraphale says as he tugs at the toe of one sock until it comes off.

Crowley wants to watch this, he wants to see this vision of divinity undressing and loving him, but he also wants to hide, to curl up and block out any kind of world where Aziraphale thinks that Crowley is worth anything. He compromises by dropping his arms across his face and not running away.

Aziraphale pulls off the second sock and begins to stroke Crowley’s feet to the ankle.

“I love your feet, Crowley. They’ve carried you through so much and always back to me,” he takes Crowley’s right foot in both hands and works his thumbs into the ball. “I think this foot can be a bit heavy when you’re driving, but I love it all the same. You walked on consecrated ground for me, I can forgive any flaws.”

Crowley groans from behind his arms, pained by Aziraphale’s sincerity. At Aziraphale’s bidding, Crowley lifts his hips from the bed and lets his jeans be pulled down. His underwear stays on and, he notes with a pang of disappointment, Aziraphale tucks Crowley’s cock back inside. Feather-light touches skim up Crowley’s calves, circle his kneecaps and continue up his thighs. The bed sinks as Aziraphale moves but Crowley still can’t bring himself to watch.

“You have exquisite legs, my love. I can feel the strength in them,” Aziraphale presses a multitude of kisses to Crowley’s legs, whispering his endearments as he goes. “I love how they look in your tight trousers, I loved how they looked outlined by your robes when the wind would catch them, and I love seeing them now all exposed just for me.”

Aziraphale runs his hands up Crowley’s inner thighs, stopping just short of his boxers. Despite himself, Crowley shivers and whines, pressing up into Aziraphale’s hands. The worst is yet to come, though, and Crowley doesn’t think he can face it.

Aziraphale straddles Crowley’s thighs and touches the strip of skin at his hips, above his underwear and below the hem of his shirt.

“I’d like to remove your shirt now, if I may,” Aziraphale asks in a warm voice.

“You can, if you really want to.”

“Dear, I’ll need you to move your arms and work with me just a little.”

Carefully, so that Aziraphale can’t mistake his insecurity for doubt, Crowley sits up and holds his arms above his head. Aziraphale takes hold of the hem of the soft black shirt and peels it up over Crowley’s head.

Crowley is temporarily blinded by the material around his face when he hears Aziraphale’s gasp. Before he can push his shirt back down, Aziraphale has it in his hands. Instead, Crowley wraps his arms around his chest and sinks into himself.

“I tried to warn you,” he says, simply.

“Crowley, please believe me when I say that nothing you have said could have prepared me for how perfect you are.”

He chances a glance at Aziraphale now, expecting to see the awkward face of an angel caught in a lie. Aziraphale is practically glowing with love and adoration which, well, it’s a lot for Crowley to process. He hugs himself a little tighter and looks away.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” Crowley mutters.

Aziraphale makes a dismissive sound and moves to lie beside Crowley, his head level with Crowley’s navel. His warm breath tickles Crowley’s skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps across his stomach. At the touch of Aziraphale’s palm Crowley starts, ready to jump out of his skin, the bed, this plane of existence, whatever will protect him best.

“Hush, love. Relax, if you can,” Aziraphale soothes, stroking low on Crowley’s abdomen.

Crowley closes his eyes and focuses on breathing, on feeling Aziraphale’s touch, on anything other than how he must look; a pale streak on dark sheets, a skeleton in a grave.

Aziraphale’s fingers trace delicate patterns over Crowley’s hips and the flat stretch of his stomach; kisses follow in their wake, pressed gently and lovingly to Crowley’s skin. A very real fear takes hold in Crowley’s throat, the fear that being loved like this will kill him digs its claws into him.

“You are so beautiful, Crowley. I wish I could show you how I see you,” Aziraphale whispers into his kisses. “You’re exquisite.”

The touches trail up Crowley’s sides, growing just firm enough to keep from tickling him. Aziraphale’s kisses move up from navel to sternum, accompanied by contented sighs and subtle touches from the tip of his tongue. Crowley’s arms move lightning-quick to catch Aziraphale’s hands before he can reach Crowley’s ribs.

“Angel, please,” Crowley is about to fall apart, his molecules and atoms are vibrating loose, he’s sure of it.

“What do you need?” Aziraphale looks up and Crowley is immediately grounded by the faint concern and love that Aziraphale is radiating.

“I, uh, I don’t know,” he admits, sheepishly. “Just feeling overwhelmed, I think.”

Aziraphale nods and moves to Crowley’s side. He presses chaste kisses to Crowley’s lips, cheeks, nose, and chin.

“Let’s move to safer territory,” Aziraphale offers.

He picks up Crowley’s hand and kisses the back of his knuckles like a gentleman from a regency romance. Crowley laughs, his heart lighter already. He watches Aziraphale caress his hand, turning it over so he can kiss Crowley’s palm. Again, there’s the slightest touch of Aziraphale’s tongue in the kiss and Crowley’s heart hammers at the realisation.

“May I tell you how I admire your hands? How elegant they are? All the times I’ve thought of them touching yourself, touching me? About how often I’ve been distracted by the sight of them on the steering wheel, holding the stem of a wine glass, drumming on a table?” Aziraphale punctuates each point with a kiss to the hand that he holds captive.

Crowley is captivated, Aziraphale is so sincere in his praise and observations; it feels so much like being worshipped that Crowley almost expects to be struck down for tempting an angel this way. He likes his hands, they are slender rather than skeletal; pianist hands they might have been called these days. Hearing Aziraphale pour out affection for them isn’t as uncomfortable as it was for his more loathed body parts. He can cope with this, Crowley thinks as he watches Aziraphale move his kisses to the inside of Crowley’s wrist.

“Oh!” Crowley gasps as Aziraphale’s lips meet the delicate skin of his wrist.

Aziraphale glances up, sharply.

“Are you all right?”

Crowley is still watching the gentle caress of Aziraphale’s fingertips against his palm and wrist.

“Uh, yeah. I’m good. Great, even. Yeah.”

Aziraphale lowers his head to repeat the kiss and, this time, Crowley has himself under control enough to keep his response to a soft moan.

“Oh, you  _ like _ that!” Aziraphale sounds pleased with his discovery.

For a few minutes, it appears that his mission is forgotten as Aziraphale kisses, licks, and strokes the sensitive skin of Crowley’s inner arm. The spectrum of pleased noises that escape Crowley is mortifying, even more so given how hard he’s trying to keep them inside. Aziraphale breaks away from his kisses and begins to run his hands up and down the arm he’s holding captive.

“Your arms are wonderful, too, you know? The way you move, it’s this impossible combination of graceful and casual that is so individually  _ you _ . I am always reminded of a dancer when you get animated and expressive. It looks careless, but I know it isn’t.”

Aziraphale hasn’t forgotten his purpose after all. Crowley has been coaxed into uncurling enough to let Aziraphale’s compliments land right in his heart.

“Aziraphale,” he whines. “I want you.”

It’s not a request, just a statement. A fact that Crowley is putting out into the atmosphere. He wants Aziraphale and not this slow, intimate, embarrassing seduction. He rolls onto his side and reaches out to touch Aziraphale’s chest, to feel the warm, soft mass of him.

“I’m yours, my love,” Aziraphale answers. “I need you to know how completely I love you, how desperately attractive I find you.”

As he speaks, Aziraphale wraps his free arm around Crowley’s back and draws him close. With Aziraphale’s hand splayed across his spine, Crowley stiffens in a moment of panic. He’s all skin and bone back there, Aziraphale must be able to feel his every rib and vertebrae. The contrast of Crowley’s sharp angles has never felt so sharp as now when he is pressed into Aziraphale’s rounded softness.

Wrenching his hand free from Aziraphale’s grasp, Crowley throws his arms around Aziraphale and holds him tight, hiding his face against Aziraphale’s shoulder. They lie, pressed chest to chest, like this for a moment, with Aziraphale murmuring words of love into Crowley’s hair. When Aziraphale’s hands begin to roam over Crowley’s back once more, Crowley refuses to tense again. He breathes Aziraphale’s scent and focuses on the feeling of warm skin under his own hands to distract him from the horrors that Aziraphale must be feeling; the sharp edges of his shoulder blades, the rise and fall of his xylophone ribs, the skeletal feel of his spine, he lets them fade from his mind and be replaced with Aziraphale’s classical beauty.

“I love holding you like this, Crowley. Your whole body is delicious and I adore it,” Aziraphale apparently hasn’t finished with his worship. “I love that you can curl up small as well as stretch out long and tall. I love how, even in this corporation, I can still see the serpent you are. Every single part of this body is  _ you _ , Crowley, and if you can accept that I love you, then you must accept that I love your physical form too.”

Crowley whines into Aziraphale’s neck before answering with some kisses of his own, fired by the sparks that Aziraphale has thrown into the kindling of Crowley’s desire. As if to say that he understands, Aziraphale rolls his hips against Crowley and makes him aware of the solid erection that Aziraphale is sporting.

“Oh, angel. I love you.”

Crowley kisses Aziraphale before he can answer, begging for entrance to his mouth with a persistent tongue and a tightening embrace. Aziraphale’s hands drop for only a second to help Crowley shimmy out of his underwear and then they are suddenly pressed into each other, fitting together seamlessly and very naked. Crowley moans into Aziraphale’s mouth as he rocks his cock into Aziraphale’s thigh.

“What do you want? We’ll do whatever you want, Crowley,” Aziraphale says against Crowley’s lips, hardly breaking their kiss to ask the question.

The wealth of possibilities available to him leave Crowley reeling for a moment until he realises that there’s only one thing that he’s consistently wanted for as long as he’s allowed himself to imagine this moment.

“I want you inside me, angel, please.”

Aziraphale makes a pleased noise and rolls Crowley onto his back, pinning him from above with the weight of his body and the force of his kiss.

“I’m so glad you said that. Oh, my darling, I’m going to make you see stars.”

Crowley feels a flush warm his cheeks, he had never imagined being able to ask for this, let alone Aziraphale  _ wanting _ it with him. It seems impossible that, just earlier this evening, Aziraphale had been sucking Crowley’s cock entirely of his own volition and now he’s preparing to fuck him. There’s a very real chance that Crowley won’t last that long, not with the way his erection is straining and leaking. A strong breeze could get him off at this point.

He concentrates and there’s a faint tang of ozone at the back of his throat, the sure-fire sign of a miracle. His hole is slick and relaxed, ready for Aziraphale.

“Crowley? Did you not want me to-”

“I won’t last if you do, angel. Please. I need you,” Crowley interrupts with his plea.

Something dark and sensual clouds Aziraphale’s face, as if he hasn’t before realised how intense Crowley’s need is. He nods and settles back between Crowley’s thighs, continuing his slow, loving strokes of Crowley’s body.

Not wanting to miss a moment, Crowley watches Aziraphale’s face as the blunt head of his cock nudges against Crowley’s ass. Aziraphale pushes in slowly, filling Crowley with a deep, sweet, warm stretch that he never wants to end. A mixture of bliss, ecstasy, and desire dances across Aziraphale’s features, only settling into a focused expression of determination once he’s fully buried in Crowley.

Crowley’s eyes flutter closed as Aziraphale’s cock drags out of him; even at this slow pace, he’s sure that he won’t last long. Aziraphale builds the speed so gradually that Crowley skates the edge of his pleasure for far longer than he would have thought possible. Finally, finally, when Aziraphale is fucking him in earnest, Crowley manages to open his eyes again.

“You gorgeous thing, you’re beautiful beyond words,” Aziraphale huffs as soon as Crowley makes eye contact, thrusting into him harder and faster with each word. “You feel incredible on my cock.”

Crowley gapes at this, his brain struggling to cope with everything that it’s trying to process.

“Angel, angel, I can’t hold off. Fuck, I’m so close,” Crowley pants.

“Show me, show me how delicious you are when you come, my love.”

The encouragement is almost enough to push him over by itself. Aziraphale’s hands are all over him, petting and touching every awkward inch of him. Aziraphale’s cock is filling him so sweetly and rubbing a hard rhythm against his prostate. Crowley wraps his hand around his cock, thinking of how Aziraphale had described his hands as elegant, and almost as soon as his fingers close he’s arching off the bed, whimpering and crying out his pleasure. Aziraphale leans down to kiss him, to ground him through the aftershocks. As the last waves of his orgasm fade, Aziraphale shudders above him and clutches his shoulders as if he can bury his cock any deeper inside Crowley.

“I love you,” Aziraphale gasps into Crowley’s ear, holding them together as he fills Crowley with his orgasm.

It’s too much all at once. Crowley is full of love and adoration and Aziraphale and joy. It’s so much more than he ever thought he’d be allowed, far more than he deserves. Aziraphale holds him so tightly that he feels safe, protected. Without knowing why, Crowley tucks his arms to his sides and rolls both of them to one side. He’s sobbing by the time that Aziraphale’s cock slips from his hole. In an instant, the mess pressed between their stomachs and dripping out of Crowley is disappeared. Aziraphale’s arms are around him, possessive and soothing at once.

“Darling, I’m sorry. Tell me what’s wrong, please?” Aziraphale sounds so worried as he cradles Crowley and strokes his back.

“I didn’t know you could love me that much!” Crowley chokes out between sobs. “It’s a lot! I don’t deserve it!”

He can feel the hysteria growing in his chest, the knowledge that this is where Aziraphale draws the line and leaves him.

“Oh no, Crowley, no. I don’t love you half as well as you deserve. I love you with everything that I am, but you deserve so much more. I’m the lucky one, here. Believe me.”

Crowley hiccups into Aziraphale’s chest amazed that he’s still being held. Aziraphale tangles their legs together, drawing Crowley into a full-bodied embrace.

“I love you. I am yours and you are mine. You are the most beautiful creation that I have ever seen and I have seen a great many of them. I know it’s a lot for you to take in, but I’m not going to stop loving you. You’re rather stuck with me.” Aziraphale speaks in a low, calming voice until Crowley’s breathing returns to normal.

“Love you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale lifts Crowley’s chin and kisses him until his doubts are silenced.

  
  



End file.
